I probably shouldn’t have gone to Huelva this weekend. I did think about not going (okay, that’s a lie, but it makes me feel a little better). I say I shouldn’t have gone because of all the other things that I should really have been doing: studying, studying, studying and yes, more studying. I have two French exams coming up (this week, actually), and I am less than prepared for them. When I say ‘less than prepared’ I do of course mean that if 10 were 100% prepared and 1 were 0% prepared I would definitely be in double figures… negative ones.
Anyway, onto more interesting things. My weekend. I left Zaragoza at 6am on Friday morning (after going to bed at around 2am). I wasn’t particularly concerned because I would be on the train to Seville for four hours so I knew I’d have time to sleep… or so I thought! The Spaniard I was sitting next to didn’t really respect the personal space of his fellow passangers. Or rather, he obliterated the concept of it. Being British, and probably a little too polite, I resorted to a gentle cough in the hope that he would wake up and realise that he was spilling over into my seat. No success. I coughed a little louder and with a little more force. He stirred in his sleep. I was on the right track! I continued to cough (and to acquire irritable looks from fellow passengers who are probably now blogging about my lack of respect for their hearing). Long story short, it took an ‘asthma attack’ and a near ‘cardiac arrest’ before the Spaniard woke up and casually leaned his head against the window. Yes, you read that right: he had the window seat, and because that couldn’t give him all the comfort he needed he went looking for it elsewhere. I felt like a poorly paid man whore. He did this several more times throughout the journey so needless to say when I finally arrived in Seville I had a very sore throat and my chest felt quite bruised from all the coughing.
I actually have really bad luck when it comes to sleeping passengers. A few weeks ago I got the bus to Madrid at 4am. I’d requested a window seat so that I could sleep a little bit on the way. I got on and there was a sleeping Chinaman in the aisle seat (don’t ask me what his possible ethnic origin has to do with this, but it somehow feels relevant). Not wanting to wake him up, I decided to carefully climb over the unconscious body to sit in my seat. After labourious leg stretching and upper-body heaving I finally arrived in 13D. I let out a sigh of relief which was instantly followed by a suppressed gasp of horror on catching sight of the 13A in bold letters on my ticket. Yes, I had to once again straddle a stranger. I had to once again face the fear that this man might wake up mid-straddle.
But anyway, back to my weekend. It pretty much followed the normal structure of a weekend in Huelva. I ate, I ate a little bit more, I continued to eat and finally I felt sick. It’s one of the many disadvantages of being so near to the coast and having such great tasting seafood on offer in every restaurant. That, and the inability to say no to anything. I studied a little bit (well, I glanced at the textbook – which still counts) and now I’m on my way home. It’s late and I’m tired so I’m going to put my laptop away. Good night all.